The Cure for Insomnia
by davros72
Summary: A chance meeting late at night at the station...


TITLE: The Cure for Insomnia  
AUTHOR: Kevin Schultz  
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: davros72@prodigy.net  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: I'm fine with it, just let me know where it'll be,  
that's all I ask.  
CATEGORY: General  
RATING/WARNINGS: G  
MAIN CHARACTERS: Betty Roberts, Scott Sherwood  
DISCLAIMER: Remember WENN created by Rupert Holmes, property AMC, Howard  
Meltzer Productions, etc. No infringement is intended.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It seems like forever since I wrote a non-parody,  
non-crossover WENN fanfic. Yikes! I miss the gang. I was struck by  
insomnia tonight, so I whipped up this little scene. It was fun playing  
with the characters again, I should do this more often. :-)  
  
  
**********  
  
Betty Roberts unlocked the door to WENN, and crept inside. The lights were  
out, and it was utterly silent. She closed the door carefully, and fumbled  
for the light-switch. The bulbs flickered a bit, but then remained steadily  
alit.  
  
Betty hung up her coat. She checked her watch. 3:34am. What on Earth was  
she doing up so late? Or, perhaps, so early? Shaking her head, she headed  
towards the Writer's Room.  
  
"I hate insomnia," she grumbled to herself as she moved past the doors to  
the Green Room. She froze as she heard another sort of grumbling from  
beyond the Green Room doors. She turned her head to look at the doors.  
There were no lights on behind the shutters. Did someone leave the radio on  
again? The station could barely afford to keep operating, they certainly  
didn't need to be running up the electricity bill by leaving radios on  
overnight!  
  
Betty pushed the Green Room doors open, and turn on the lights. As she  
flicked the switch, the grumbling noise rattled through the station again.  
She scanned the room. It wasn't the radio... the radio was off.  
  
Perhaps it was the man asleep on the sofa. Betty jumped as she noticed the  
huddled form underneath the quilted blanket when it moved slightly.  
  
"Yikes!" Betty cried.  
  
"Whazza--!" the blanket yelped back in response.  
  
Betty backed up against the doors, and called out, "Who is that, who's  
there?"  
  
The blanket moved around, and a hand emerged from beneath it. The hand  
whipped back the blanket, revealing the sleepy face of Scott Sherwood.  
  
Betty let out a huge sigh of relief. "Scott Sherwood! Don't you ever scare  
me like that again!" Betty scolded.  
  
Scott sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked at her blearily. "Betty,  
Betty... !" Scott stretched, and blinked his eyes several  
times rapidly. "Y'know, I was just dreaming about you."  
  
"Oh, really?" Betty said sternly.  
  
"Well, actually it was about us, as a matter of fact. You see, we..."  
  
"I don't care what we were doing, what are you doing here? At this time of  
night?"  
  
Scott looked at her and chuckled. "I might ask you the same question."  
  
Betty looked a bit guilty. "Well, I asked you first."  
  
Scott sighed. "I don't have anywhere to go."  
  
"You might try going home."  
  
Scott shook his head. "No, the family would never stand for it. Besides,  
I've got a great job here, why would I give all that up to move back to--"  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"Yeah, I know. Truth is, I got kicked out of my apartment. Couldn't pay  
the rent. So I've been camping out here for a while. It's just until I get  
some more dough scraped together and can afford to live somewhere."  
  
"You're kidding me, right?" Betty asked.  
  
Scott shook his head again. "Nope. Wish I was."  
  
Betty walked over to the sofa. "Oh. Oh, Scott, I'm sorry. Is there... is  
there anything I can do to help?"  
  
"No thanks, Betty. I'll be fine. Just have to get a coupla paydays under  
my belt, and I'll be good as gold."  
  
Betty sat down next to Scott on the sofa. "Where'd you find the quilt?" she  
asked quietly.  
  
"Mr. Eldridge. He's got an amazing collection of all sorts of interesting  
stuff squirreled away all over this station. You wouldn't believe some of  
the things he's got."  
  
"I imagine I wouldn't," Betty chuckled.  
  
"He told me his grandmother had made it for him when he was just an infant."  
  
Betty fingered the material. "She does good work," she remarked.  
  
"Speaking of doing good work," Scott continued smoothly, "it's your turn to  
answer... What are *you* doing here?"  
  
Betty leaned back. She sighed, and said, "Insomnia."  
  
"What, again?"  
  
Betty nodded.  
  
"Betty, I'm beginning to worry about you. Are you sure you're OK? You're  
not overburdening yourself or anything?"  
  
Betty shook her head. "No, Scott, I'm doing just fine."  
  
Scott looked her in the eye. Betty looked away quickly.  
  
"Betty?"  
  
"Don't look at me like that."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It makes me feel uncomfortable. And besides, I'm fine. Really."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I swear."  
  
"Betty Roberts, you would never swear if your life depended on it."  
  
Betty laughed. "Well, if my life depended on it, I might swear." She  
smiled, and looked at Scott.  
  
"What if *my* life depended on it?" Scott asked her.  
  
"I'd take a vow of silence," she answered with a laugh. Scott laughed with  
her.  
  
They leaned back together on the sofa. After a moment, Scott reached over  
and turned on the radio. He adjusted the dial and found a station playing  
some music. He listened for a second, then said, "I love this song...  
'Stardust'."  
  
Betty smiled wistfully. "I think it's Ramon Raquello and his orchestra.  
They were quite popular just a few years ago. I wonder whatever happened to  
him..."  
  
Scott shook his head. "No idea."  
  
They listened to the music for a while. Then Scott stood up, and extended  
his hand. "May I have this dance?"  
  
Betty looked up at him. "What?"  
  
"I've always wanted to ask you that."  
  
Betty stood up, somewhat uncertainly. "OK, but no funny business, Mister."  
  
The two linked hands, and began to dance slowly to the romantic tunes  
emanating from the radio. After another tune scratched its way across the  
airwaves, Betty leaned into Scott, and rested her head on his shoulder.  
  
"Are you sure you're OK, Scott?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Never better," Scott replied just as quietly.  
  
They danced some more, and then Scott murmured, "Are *you* OK, Betty  
Roberts?"  
  
Betty was silent. Scott craned his head to look at her. Betty had fallen  
asleep, with the most peaceful look that Scott had ever seen on her face.  
He continued to dance slowly with her. "Yeah, I'd say you're OK, Betty," he  
whispered.  
  
As the strains of the orchestra continued onwards, Scott maneuvered Betty to  
the sofa. He sat her down, swung her legs up onto the sofa, placed a pillow  
under her head, and lovingly placed the quilt over her, tucking her in.  
  
Scott turned the radio volume down, and headed for the doors. He paused at  
the threshold, and turned back to look at the figure snuggled under the  
blanket. "Yeah, you're all right, Betty Roberts. You're all right." He  
turned and left the room.  
  
...THE END... 


End file.
